The Slytherins Who Stayed
by PresidentJamesMadison
Summary: As the new headmaster, Severus Snape has foregone the obvious choices and named Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott Head Girl and Boy. Follow them and other Slytherin students through the 1997-1998 school year, as they face the consequences of their parents' actions.
1. Prologue: Severus

"It can't be the Malfoy boy."

Carrow sneered, his jealousy of the young man and the life and luxuries his family had provided him barely concealed by his contempt. Severus sighed, placing his fingertips on his temples, which throbbed heavily. He'd only wanted to teach the Dark Arts class—he hadn't wanted to deal with the minutiae of the headmaster position. Selecting a Head Boy and Girl, not to mention Prefects, was a perfectly useless task.

All the more frustrating that he couldn't simply give the positions to the choices Dumbledore had made. The halfblooded Abbott girl and muggleborn Finch-Fletchley were included on that list. That was unacceptable.

And after his failure to kill the old man, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly in the Dark Lord's good graces either.

Severus could feel the beginnings of a headache.

"I'll figure it out. Leave."

Alone, in the office of a dead man, Severus considered his options. He needed two—a boy and a girl. Slytherin, or at least pureblood. Not Draco Malfoy. He thought of Dumbledore, and of the students he still felt a need to protect—all of them, the Abbott girl and Finch-Fletchley included. He sighed.

Slytherin, or at least pureblood. And, preferably, disinclined to participate in the violence that he felt certain would soon begin to befall some of the students.

He wasn't in a position to protect any of them.

But he could avoid putting those who might revel in the violence in a position of power.


	2. Greengrass

[Hi there, anyone reading this! Just a note: this is my first fanfiction, so I'm obviously prone to mistakes and mishaps. It's just for fun though, so kindness is appreciated alongside constructive criticism. Thank-you!]

Had you asked, two weeks into her final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Daphne Greengrass how she felt about the whole affair, she would have rolled her eyes to the ceiling and heaved a great sigh and said just one word:

"Exhausted."

She felt tired. Weary. Worn. Drained. Find a synonym for exhausted and Daphne would have gladly accepted its use as applied to herself.

She'd been tired since receiving her letter, inviting her to return, as a matter of fact.

The letter had contained the strangest, most unexpected thing—the Head Girl's badge.

Life had been one headache after another since.

Pansy Parkinson, who no doubt had expected the badge, hadn't spoken to her since. Daphne found that to be no great loss, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. Particularly so when Daphne felt she'd much rather just give the whole thing up. She'd never been one for positions of authority.

Not that her counterpart fared better. They'd all expected Draco Malfoy to get the title, so when Theodore Nott had received the badge, they'd all become somewhat suspicious of the entire situation.

Why were the Malfoys being punished?

More confusingly, were the Parkinsons being punished as well?

These were the thoughts that plagued Daphne during the rare moments she had to herself, laying in her bed, wishing the Slytherin dormitory were anywhere other than the dungeons—what she wouldn't give for a sunny window at a time like this.

"Snape's looking for you."

Daphne couldn't help herself and groaned loudly as Tracey Davis, a halfblood black girl with blonde dreads that fell to the small of her back flung her bag into a corner and kicked off her shoes. Tracey laughed.

"What for?" Daphne asked, knowing Tracey had no idea.

"Couldn't say, but he seemed surprised you weren't in Carrow's class with me."

"Is he? You think he'd have access to that kind of information."

"Guess he assumed."

"I suppose he did." Daphne stood and stretched before looking Tracey over critically.

Daphne worried for her friend. As a halfblood, Tracey existed somewhere between 'perfectly acceptable' and 'ought to be exterminated' in the minds of the people who now controlled their world. As a Slytherin, there was a certain privilege she enjoyed—most assumed she was a bit further on the 'pure' side of 'halfblood', although Daphne knew differently. Tracey's mother had been a halfblood witch, and had died when Tracey was young. She'd been raised by her muggleborn father—and his squib wife.

In a different house, she might have gone into hiding by now; her father and step-mother had. But in Slytherin—surrounded by Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent—she could attempt to blend in. The Carrows were too stupid, and too eager to pick on Hufflepuffs, to even notice.

Still, Daphne kept an eye open. Tracey was her friend, even if her blood was murky.

"Well, better see what our glorious, eternal Headmaster needs." She said with a sigh as Tracey chuckled, "I'll see you at dinner?"

On her way out, Daphne ran into Theodore Nott, who looked as troubled as he always did. He was a twitchy, nervous young man, with dark hair that always seemed just a bit too long. He looked pale.

"You look pale." Daphne told him as he fell into step beside her.

"Snape wants to see us." He responded, sounded as tired as she felt. Daphne had known Theodore since childhood and knew he resented the responsibilities of being Head Boy. In fact, she'd have had a difficult time thinking of something Theodore didn't resent.

He resented his father, certainly. She felt certain he blamed his father, to a certain extent, for his mother's death. Daphne had never asked, but there was something in his voice, and in his eyes, whenever he spoke of the man—elderly and no kinder for his old age—that told her the truth of it. She wondered if Theodore had spoken to his father since the Azkaban break-out. Instead of asking, she reached out to give his elbow what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. Theodore tossed her something most would consider a grimace, but that Daphne knew to be a smile. She smiled back.

"Do you know what this is about?" Daphne asked as they began the tedious, exhausting task climbing stairs from the dungeons to the headmaster's office—Salazar had obviously wanted to keep his progeny as far away from authority as possible.

"Probably just wants to make sure we know our role. Neither of us were Prefects, so I suppose we have some catching up to do. What's the job, exactly."

"What _is_ the job, anyway?"

"Not a clue."

"I wonder why he picked two students who hadn't been Prefects." Daphne mused, "Obviously it had to be purebloods—not that Dumbledore would have had that problem—but why not Pansy? Malfoy? Why us?"

"I really don't care to know the answer to that."

"Really?"

"Well, I know why not Draco." Theodore replied, somewhat mysteriously.

"Well, why?"

"The Dark Lord isn't pleased with him, or his father."

The hair on the back of Daphne's neck stood up. Despite her house and status, she'd lived a life largely insulated from the wars—covert, overt, or otherwise—that plagued their world. Her father had never joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, although he'd never denounced them either. He'd profited handsomely, and helped them plenty, but had never quite crossed the line to become one of them. She'd never been in the room, or the next room over, with the kind of talk Theodore alluded to.

She supposed he'd spoken with his father after all.

"Are they…is he…in danger?" She felt foolish, whispering. Theodore smirked.

"We're all in danger, Daphne."

They'd reached the Headmaster's office. Theodore knocked before Daphne could ask him just what he meant by that. The door creaked open, and Professor Snape greeted them.

The conversation was largely dull and almost entirely useless, but Daphne couldn't help but notice a certain subtext to it that seemed to make sense to Theodore and only served to confuse her. She was aware the school was in a period of transition. It was difficult to miss. She nodded along any, casting sideways glances at Theodore throughout. What about this wasn't she understanding?

"There is a certain…delicacy to the current situation here. A certain degree of instability." Snape spoke in carefully measured sentences, his tone that of a man who was finally approaching the point, "The two of you have been chosen for a very particular purpose. Do not think that you were simply the next in line once Mr. Malfoy fell out of favor. You were selected, by me, specifically. I request that you ruminate on that." He looked down his long nose at Theodore, "And remember that you have certain authorities and responsibilities here, as well as a duty towards your peers." He looked at Daphne, who by this point was largely feigning her interest, and resisted the urge to sigh. Nott, at least, seemed to get the idea, "You may go."

Later, as they arrived in the Great Hall for dinner, Daphne couldn't help but feel troubled by the look on Theodore's face, and told him so.

"The Carrows are dangerous." He told her darkly, his eyes darting from one to the other, where they sat at the head table. Daphne shrugged.

"Well, they're Death Eaters." Theodore was already shaking his head.

"To the students, Snape is worried the Carrows are dangerous to _students_."

"Well, dangerously incompetent." Daphne laughed, stopping as he glared at her. Her brow furrowed, "You don't seriously think…?" Theodore shrugged.

"I don't know Daph," He hadn't called her that in a long time, it was startlingly familiar and gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt like a child again, "I really do not know."


	3. Davis

The first compulsory Muggle Studies class of the semester had been a bit of a joke; no seventh year student took it seriously. At least none of those that hadn't planned to take the class anyway. In a way, Tracey felt bad for the students who had originally intended to take N.E.W.T. level Muggle Studies. Not because a subject they cared for had been co-opted and corrupted by a racist hunchback of a woman, but because they were the kind of nerds that found Muggle Studies interesting to begin with.

The second compulsory Muggle Studies class of the semester had been less funny. The spitting, sinister, spinster of a woman who styled herself as "Professor Carrow" had treated to them an hour and a half of vitriolic propaganda. Pansy Parkinson had had quite a grand time, but she was perhaps the only one.

The third had been worse. The fourth, largely unbearable.

Tracey had spent years in the Slytherin dormitories, surrounded by those with old, pure blood and intense prejudices. She'd survived that—she had thrived, in fact. Nothing drove her to succeed more than knowing it would upset the bigots and idiots she called housemates. She had felt outcast at times. She'd reveled in it.

It was nothing compared to what she felt now. What she felt now was _fear_.

The fifth week, the Professors Carrow held a joint class. In it, they attempted to demonstrate the inherent weakness of muggle blood by having Neville Longbottom hex Hannah Abbott. When he refuses, they cackled; perfect, they'd get to do a side-by-side comparison.

Tracey felt sick and afraid—too afraid to look away—as Amycus Carrow turned his wand upon each in turn, and shouted about how much louder Hannah screamed, and how that was evidence of her muddy blood. She swayed. Daphne's fingers dug into her elbow, steadying her on her feet. The two girls exchanged a glance. Reflected in the perfect, pristine blue of Daphne Greengrass's eyes, Tracey saw her own fear.

Tracey hadn't always loved Daphne. At first, she had loathed her as she had loathed them all. Thin, small, with beautiful and delicate faces. Pureblood girls, brought up in fine manor homes. They'd all known each other already, and knew their roles. Pansy was in charge, Sally-Anne and Daphne served her, and poor Millicent Bulstrode (who unfortunately did not share in her compatriots' good looks) existed to make them all feel better about themselves.

Dark-skinned, tall, and a tomboy, Tracey never would have fit in, even if all of her grandparents had been wizards, instead of just one. It had been a lonely first year.

Second year hadn't gotten off to a much better start, and when muggleborn students started turning up petrified, Tracey began to worry that she had something—or someone—to fear.

Then one evening, after the other girls had fallen asleep, a soft voice had asked her, "Are you afraid?"

And Tracey had turned to see the pale, luminously blue eyes of Daphne Greengrass watching her from the next bed over. Defiant, Tracey had responded.

"No."

A moment of silence had hung between them, before Daphne responded.

"I am."

Tracey had loved her since. Not at first, and not all at once, but over time they'd developed a strong bond. Daphne had disentangled herself somewhat from Pansy, confessing to Tracey the anxiety she experienced around the other girls—the insecurity and uncertainty.

They had been children then—more so than they were now, although Tracey had never felt so powerless as she did during that 'lesson'. More than the powerlessness, and the fear, however, was a deep sense of shame. The shame started when Neville Longbottom refused to curse Hannah. It deepened as she witnessed their pain, feeling herself shrinking away, trying to make herself smaller.

Neville Longbottom could be brave.

Tracey Davis would pray that no one noticed or remembered that she, herself, had murkier blood than any other student remaining at Hogwarts.

That evening, as they settled into their seats for dinner, Daphne laid a delicate hand on Tracey's arm, "Are you alright?"

Tracey nodded.

"It's just, you look a little not alright."

"I'm fine."

"If you say so, it's just that it seems you aren't, and if you aren't, I'd like to know."

"I'm _fine._ " Tracey hissed, half-whispering, her eyes darting down the table to where Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sat together with Draco Malfoy. Daphne followed her eyes, and exhaled heavily through her nose.

"Understood."

Theodore had joined them, looking troubled. Daphne turned her concern to him.

"What's going on?"

"There's a third year in the Hospital Wing, says Carrow hexed her."

"Which Carrow?"

"Does is matter? It's one thing to curse us, but children?"

"Right," Daphne rolled her eyes in his direction, picking apart a piece of bread delicately, "The vast difference between hexing children and hexing slightly older children. We're all children, Theo."

"We're not all in danger, though." Tracey offered bitterly, eyes fixed upon the table in front of her, eyes swimming in what couldn't have possibly been tears.

Daphne and Theodore glanced at each other, both knowing she meant that neither of them were in any danger. They were hard-pressed to disagree, and so didn't.

After dinner, Tracey declined to accompany her friends back to their common room. Despite the years of warm friendship with Daphne and tepid acceptance with Theodore, she wasn't feeling very much at the moment that she had much in common with either.

Tracey had learned early in her education to remain tight-lipped about herself; her history, her parentage, her lineage. She'd confided in Daphne, in bits and pieces, over the years, but for the most part had avoided sharing. She was marked as different from her peers enough as it was.

She was marked by her skin: dark and rich and beautiful but _different_. Sure, Blaise Zabini was black as well, but something about him conveyed a sense of high-society and aristocracy. It was an air that Tracey had never been able to exude, perhaps because she hadn't been born wealthy. Zabini could make up for his differences in gold and clout; Tracey had neither.

She was marked by her name: _Davis_. Unbearably common and conspicuously absent from any wizarding social circles, and certainly not present in the lineages of any of the so-called sacred twenty-eight, to which most of her peers belonged.

'Peers' meaning, of course, her fellow Slytherins, although she doubted sincerely that any of them would consider her an equal.

 _It's one thing to curse us._ That was what Theodore had said. _Us._ As if he or Daphne were ever in any danger. No, Theodore was of course blind to it, but the berth given to him, to a Nott, and to the Greengrasses and Malfoys of the world was wide. Not even Parkinson enjoyed such privilege.

Neither of the Carrows dared touch a hair on Daphne or Theodore's head.

For Tracey, it felt like only a matter of time.

Her steps slowed and she halted in the middle of a corridor, candlelight flickering around her. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back tears. _Don't let them see you cry_.

She had never let them see her cry, not about such things anyway. She'd cried to Daphne when Cedric Diggory had turned her down for the Yule Ball, but that had been childish and silly; the tears of a heartbroken teenaged girl who felt completely in love with a handsome boy she had never even spoken with.

Cedric Diggory was dead now, of course.

Tracey set out again, quick footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty hallways.

In the Slytherin common room, Daphne sat by a roaring fire that somehow failed to warm the entirety of the dark, dank space. In her hands was an Arithmancy textbook, but she wasn't reading. Theodore had gone out on his evening rounds—they traded days of wandering the castle in search of rule-breaking students, a tedious task if there ever was one. Daphne herself tended to shirk her duties—circling the main levels before retiring to an empty classroom with a book (and, sometimes, a flask) to waste time before returning to her dormitory.

If there were rule-breakers around, she doubted she'd want to catch them. The atmosphere in the castle these days was not the same as in previous years. There were no twelve year olds sneaking to the kitchens in the middle of the night, or fifteen year olds in search of an empty classroom to mess around in. To risk such things was to risk more than a detention. The Carrows were stricter disciplinarians than Filch could have ever hoped to be, as much of a curmudgeonly old squib as he was. He'd always expressed a desire to cane the students, but Daphne had never heard of him actually attacking one.

The Carrows did it as part of their lessons.

As of yet, no one was stupid enough to risk getting caught because they wanted a private place to shag or extra ice cream before bed.

Not that there weren't students sneaking around—Daphne knew that there were. The Gryffindors in her year thought themselves sneaky, but she saw their tired eyes, caught snippets of their whispered conversations.

She didn't care to catch them at it. Whatever they were up to, she felt absolutely certain it was above her pay grade.

"I have to ask Greengrass, after all these years has that chair actually conformed to the shape of your ass? I never see it without you in it."

Shaken from whatever thoughts she had been entertaining about the futility of trying to peer-police a student body under constant threat of torture, Daphne blinked slowly at Pansy Parkinson for a moment before smiling slowly.

"I find it always needs to be broken in again at the end of the summer. I suspect they've been replacing it with a replica each year and not telling me."

Pansy smiled, and sat in an identical chair to the other side of the fireplace. Faces dramatically illuminated by the flames and by the greenish light that pervaded the entire common room, it would be difficult not to notice the stark differences between the girls.

Pansy was smaller, with a strong, imposing body and severe facial features. She'd had a strange look, almost pug-like, as a child but had grown into a square jaw and button nose. Her hair, perfectly straight and quite dark, hung in a perfectly manicured curtain about her face. She regarded Daphne coolly.

Daphne was softer; light hair with light eyes and faint freckles on the places where the sun touched her most. Daphne had a habit of carrying herself like a person who did not want to be noticed.

Daphne had always envied Pansy's confidence and presence. No matter how you felt about the girl—and she was a divisive individual—you could not deny that whatever you felt you felt _strongly_. Daphne herself had often felt overshadowed and cast to the side by Pansy's dominating presence.

Pansy had, of course, always envied Daphne's name. Daphne had never needed to be confident or clever—she had a name: Greengrass. One of the sacred twenty-eight. No matter how pure Pansy's blood was (and, as she'd be the first to assure you, it was rather pure) there would always be certain doors closed to her, certain tables where she was not welcome.

Certain boys who would not want to marry her.

"Where's Nott?" She asked, after a moment of silence had passed between them. Daphne shrugged.

"Out and about, doing whatever it is he does."

"Shouldn't you be out and about as well?" There was an accusatory tone that Daphne did not miss. She supposed Pansy was still upset that Daphne had gotten the Head Girl's badge. Daphne shrugged.

"We usually trade off nights, it's not that important, frankly." Pansy bristled visibly and Daphne cringed at her own tactlessness. Pansy probably didn't consider the job to be even remotely unimportant.

"I notice Davis isn't around either." Pansy said, giving the room a cursory glance, raising a perfect eyebrow as she did, "That's odd, the two of you are usually attached at the hip."

Daphne checked her watch, brow furrowing. It was getting late. She felt a pit of a worry lodge itself into her stomach, where she knew it would only grow until waiting around became unbearable. She'd have to go looking for her friend soon, if Tracey didn't show up.

"I feel bad for her, really." Pansy continued, her voice a low drawl, "Being the only mudblood left in the castle must be so lonely."

It was Daphne's turn to bristle, "Tracey is halfblood." She told Pansy coolly, eyes returning to the pages of her book, although she could barely see the words. Pansy laughed.

"Only in the most technical of senses, I suppose. I heard her family's in hiding. Awful brave of her not to join them. Or just stupid."

"Tracey is halfblood." Daphne repeated tersely. Pansy was trying to push her buttons.

"I heard she's lying about that," Pansy's voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Daphne had to wonder if her dorm-mate thought they were gossiping together, or if she realized the gravity of certain rumors. "I heard she only _claims_ her mother had a wizard for a father—she can't really prove it, can she? They're all dead."

"Well if you go back far enough in anyone's lineage, there must be parentage you can't quite prove. I mean, take the Parkinsons for example, you lot haven't been around that long. Who's to say your great grandfather didn't marry a muggle?"

Pansy wrinkled her nose, "No one's questioning my blood, Greengrass."

"And no one's questioning Tracey's either."

"Not yet." It was a threat, Daphne could tell that much. She frowned, and checked her watch again.


	4. Nott

Theodore wanted to know what they were up to.

They thought themselves sneaky—Longbottom, Weasley, and their cohorts—but Theodore had noticed their sly glances and whispered conversations. He'd pointed them out to Daphne, who'd been entirely unimpressed with his observational powers.

 _Leave it alone Theodore. Who cares?_

He cared, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

It wasn't that he particularly wanted to bring them harm, or even stop them from doing whatever it was they were doing. It was more a burning curiosity—a trait that had always motivated him.

Curiosity—not ambition, not truly. Theodore had never envision great things for himself. After all, his father was by all measures a great man, and Theodore had little desire to be anything at all like his father.

Cadmus Nott was already well-aged when his young bride died giving birth to his only son and heir, a sickly child he called Theodore for the now-late Theodosia. It was the first and last time Cadmus did anything sentimental, or even affectionate, regarding his son.

Theodore stood on a precipice. He had for several years now—ever since his father had apparated to that graveyard, the tattoo on his arm burning bright. Cadmus had been welcomed back into the fold, into the inner circle of his old classmate. Theodore, his heir apparent, had been expected to follow suit.

Tall, lean, and with a gaunt look about him, Theodore had somehow managed to always linger in Draco Malfoy's shadow, which suited him just fine. Draco cared more— _Lucius_ cared more. The greatest thing Theodore's father had ever done for his son was leave him alone.

The world was changing though, and the past summer Theodore had seen those changes wrought upon his own household. The Malfoys, who had so strived for prominence in the new world being built, had fallen from grace. Draco, who had for so long displayed such machismo and enthusiasm for the movement, had effectively choked during what should have been his moment of triumph.

Not that Theodore could blame him. Draco had been destined to fail—had been built up for the Dark Lord to knock down. The Malfoys were being punished long before Draco failed to kill Albus Dumbledore. The Malfoys may have been on the road to punishment even before Lucius failed to acquire whatever he and the others (including Theodore's father) had been searching for in the Department of Mysteries.

Lucius's ambition had been his folly, and he was paying the price. His son was paying the price. His wife was paying the price.

More than ever, Theodore had been contemplating his own family's station; his own future. As far as Theodore was concerned, his own father's mistake had always been his dedication and commitment to _the cause_. He'd wasted time and money for years before Theodore's birth doing everything he could to ensure the rise of the Dark Lord, and when that rise abruptly ended he'd spent years and money trying to rebuild a social reputation that was just as damaged as it would have been had he actually been convicted of doing any of what he had done.

Amongst purebloods, they were a part of something grand—of the so-called 'sacred' twenty-eight. In the general population, they were the subject of rumors and repulsion. They were considered war criminals.

More recently, his father had wasted more time rotting in Azkaban, waiting for a jail-break that Theodore was astonished ever actually came. Cadmus would never recover though—he was too old, too frail. Azkaban had taken too much of his health.

And it had all been a waste of time.

Theodore didn't ascribe to the belief that he or his father would be given some exalted position, should the Dark Lord achieve his goals. They'd be in the same spot they'd be in if Cadmus had only sparingly involved himself; on top, by virtue of their blood.

The way he figured it, the Greengrasses had the right of it. Stay on the fringes, commit to nothing but provide the illusion of unbridled support. Sit in your parlor, sip your tea, wait for the dust to settle.

Theodore didn't feel he had that option, long-term.

He was hoping, however, to keep himself distanced from the entire conflict for at least his last year in school. The last thing he wanted was a proxy war fought by children he'd somehow become somewhat responsible for tossed into his lap.

He worried that whatever Weasley and Longbottom were up to, it would only create problems for him. Problems he didn't want to deal with.

Unnecessary problems at that. Weasley and Longbottom were pureblood. If they just kept their heads down, didn't antagonize the Carrows, and got through the year, they could all go home no worse for wear. Of that, Theodore was nearly certain.

Besides, he could use the exercise. He really wasn't sure how the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors managed the hikes to their tower common rooms every day, but after a few weeks of his current routine, he was finally starting to feel like he could catch his breath on the stairs.

It turned out to be worth it though; he rounded a dark corner and immediately bumped into someone. Not someone whose name he knew, but someone he recognized; the blonde, batty member of Potter's clique. She blinked at him slowly. He suddenly felt quite awkward.

"You're out after hours." He told her by way of stating the obvious.

"Oh am I? How dreadful, I was just returning a book to the library." She held up what was unmistakably a library book. Theodore knew she was lying, but couldn't help but believe her. It was practically midnight—who returned a library book at midnight? There was something earnest and honest about her though. He scowled.

"Likely story. I'll have to write you up. Come on now, back to your common room." He gripped her upper arm and she offered no resistance as he steered her back towards the Ravenclaw common room. She hummed softly as he did so.

"Where were you really going?"

"I told you, to the library." She said again, as if he were merely forgetful. Theodore huffed impatiently.

"Whatever you and your lot are plotting, _don't_. It'll only cause trouble."

"Oh, I'm no trouble. Somehow I seem to find trouble."

"Is that so?"

"Well," She smiled at him, "I managed to find you."

Theodore rolled his eyes, and then found himself recalling her name.

"Your father publishes that old rag, doesn't he? The mad one? What was it…the Quizzler?"

"Quibbler!" Luna responded enthusiastically, as if ecstatic to hear that he'd heard of it, "He's very dedicated to his work."

"Well if he knows what's good for him he'd cease." Theodore said darkly—he'd confiscated a few copies of the magazine on the orders of the headmaster. It seemed to be the only publication out there deviated from the Ministry's official position.

"He's not afraid. Truth is more important than safety."

"How noble." Theodore couldn't help the derision in his voice, "Too bad anyone who matters says he's lying."

He saw something like anger in her eyes, and in the tension of her jaw, but she didn't speak again.

The walked in silence for a few minutes, coming to an abrupt halt as the sounds of some sort of altercation reached them from the darkness of the corridor. Theodore's grip on Luna's arm tightened as he pulled her backwards, raising his own wand.

" _Lumos._ "

The light of his wand reached further than the sparse candles that dotted the hallway, far enough to illuminate the figure of Amycus Carrow, who was cursing angrily and dragging an irate Tracey Davis towards where Theodore and Luna stood. At the sight of them, he stopped, one meaty hand holding tightly onto the collar of Tracey's shirt.

"What're you lot doing out of bed?" He grumbled, brow furrowed.

"I was escorting Miss Lovegood back to the Ravenclaw dormitory, she seems to have been struck with a bout of sleepwalking." Theodore replied casually. Luna looked at him curiously for a moment, but remained silent.

"Well what're _you_ doing out of bed?" Carrow asked accusatorily. Theodore raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Head Boy, I'm _supposed_ to patrol the corridors."

"Ah, right, well I caught this one," He shook Tracey, who scowled, "Sneaking about the owlery, up to no good no doubt. No good kids, can't trust a one of you."

"I wasn't _sneaking_." Tracey protested, "I was sending an _owl_."

"At this hour? Not likely anything good in that owl. Who're'ya sending it to anyway?"

"None of _your_ business."

Carrow chuckled darkly, "It'll surely be my business shortly. Can't trust a one of you, I'd swear to it. See here, Nott, these are the ones you need to look out for." He gave Tracey another shake, "Wolf in sheep's clothing, thinks she's got us convinced she's one of us, but we know better, don't we?"

"We do, indeed." Theodore replied coolly, carefully. Tracey shot him a look of disgust. Theodore thought he could feel Luna giving him a similar look. Carrow chuckled again.

"You get that one back where she's got to go, I'll take care of this one."

Theodore considered his options briefly. Attempting to swap Tracey for Luna would mean he could escort his sometimes-friend (truthfully more Daphne's friend than his, but he'd always held a particular affection for the Greengrass girls) back to the Slytherin common room relatively unharmed, which would do her well for the night. Her days of flying under the radar were likely over, however—she'd been noticed by a Carrow, and for much the wrong reason.

It would also mean relinquishing the Lovegood girl to Carrow—which would undoubtedly end poorly for her. Theodore imagined he'd feel a certain amount of guilt about that. He wrestled with the decision for half of a moment before nodding politely to Carrow, and shoving Luna in front of him and past them.

"Good night Professor."

And they continued on their way.

"She's very brave." Luna mused airily once out of earshot. Theodore rolled his eyes.

"She's an idiot."

"She's your friend."

"Not right now she's not."

"I'd noticed." He was a little surprised by the sudden icy tone she'd taken on. He sighed.

"I can't help her if she's not willing to be smart. She shouldn't have been out this late, and frankly, you shouldn't have been either."

Luna hummed a low note, her chin lifted defiantly. Theodore pulled her to a stop, stepping to face her.

"Whatever it is you're up to—stop. I don't care what it is, just _stop_. I don't want anyone in this school to get hurt, and if you just lay low and play by their rules, it will be fine."

Luna blinked, "First they came for the jews."

Theodore blinked several times in confusion, "What?"

"First they came for the jews," Luna repeated patiently, "And I did not speak out, because I am not a jew. When they came for me, there was no one left to speak. It's a muggle poem."

"So?"

"The muggleborn students are already in hiding, and you think that's okay, because the students _here_ are safe. They're not. Eventually they'll start in on students here, for whatever reason, whether or not we follow the rules. You think it's fine, because it doesn't affect you, and maybe it never will, and so maybe you'll never understand. Passivity is approval."

Theodore scowled, "Passivity is passivity. If you stay in line, you have nothing to fear."

"I'll not queue without knowing for what I'm queuing."

Theodore didn't quite know what to make of that, and they walked the rest of the way to the Ravenclaw common room in complete silence.


	5. Cruciatus

Probably will be a bit infrequent with updates for the next little bit, I'm coming up on finals soon. But once summer rolls around, I'll be able to write more ^.^

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Ultimately Daphne had decided not to go out in search of Tracey. It wasn't in her nature to be proactive, and by the time she felt certain something was wrong enough to warrant her concern, it was well past what would have been a reasonable time to do something. It was a habit endemic in Daphne's life—ignore your problems until they either resolve themselves, or grow to such a size that there's nothing you could possibly do about them anyway.

And then, while you're at it, have yourself a drink—you probably deserve it.

"Where's Davis?" The ever-observant Sally-Anne Perks asked as the girls got dressed for the day. Millicent Bulstrode, who was not much of a morning person, grunted and shrugged. Pansy shot Daphne a sideways glance, smirking.

"She was out after hours last night, must be a perk of a close, _personal_ relationship with the authorities, I know I'd never get away with such nonsense, with our esteemed Head Girl on duty."

Daphne wasn't the only one to roll her eyes. Pansy continued.

"She was probably out with that Macmillan, I've seen her making eyes at him." Pansy made a show of picking imaginary lint from her robes, "She does like Hufflepuffs, doesn't she?"

Daphne shrugged, smoothing out the front of her own robes before grabbing her bag. Of the five of them, only Sally-Anne bothered to make her bed before leaving—the rest always left it for the house elves. Sally-Anne took great pride in it, and had once told Daphne, "My granny would skin me alive if she knew I had stayed in such a regal castle and wasn't polite enough to make my bed while I went about my day."

Sally-Anne was a witch of two worlds—her family had attended Hogwarts for over four hundred years, but hadn't resided in the United Kingdom in over two hundred. For many years after immigrating to the New World, wealthy European families in the Americas had sent their children back to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons to be educated, even after the foundation of Ilvermorny. The practice had gradually fallen out of favor as North America separated itself politically from Europe and its own educational institution grew and thrived. Only the Perks still sent children to Hogwarts—several Louisiana families stilled sent theirs to Beauxbatons.

Daphne, Millicent, and Pansy (who had all known each other since childhood) had taken to Sally-Anne immediately, enthralled by her drawl and her insistence that tea was best iced.

Over the years Daphne had grown apart from the other girls, and so felt very lonely as they all walked without Tracey to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Theodore had waited up in the common room all night for Tracey's return, and was surprised to be shaken awake from where he'd dozed off in his chair. Blearily, he blinked at the four girls who had found him.

"Did you sleep out here?" Pansy asked, nose wrinkled, "Your clothes are all wrinkled."

Theodore yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, which was beginning to ache from the uncomfortable position he'd apparently slept in. He glanced at his watch, appalled to see the time, and then looked back at the group surrounding him.

"Tracey never made it back?"

Daphne shook her head, "I haven't seen her since dinner."

"Carrow caught her in the Owlery around midnight last night, I ran into them on their way down."

"What was she doing in the Owlery?"

"Presumably sending an owl?" Sally-Anne interjected, inspecting her nails. Theodore shrugged. He had a feeling Tracey had just been wandering and ended up there without intention.

"Well we're off to breakfast, want us to wait for you?"

Theodore waved them off, knowing that other than Daphne the girls wouldn't have bothered waiting for him anyway, and he was in sore need of a change of clothing.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, Tracey was already seated at the table, looking rather tired and incredibly unhappy.

"I was just going for a walk," Tracey explained when Daphne asked, "I honestly didn't realize how late it had gotten."

"Well they really should have let you come back to the dormitory and get some sleep." Daphne said, smearing her toast with an obscene amount of jam, lips pursed, "I don't know how they expect you to be effective in class today if you've had no sleep."

"I don't think they're too concerned with my education at the moment, I have detention all day."

Daphne gave her an incredulous look, "Detention during class time?" Tracey nodded, swallowing a mouthful of bacon.

"All day, I'm to report to Carrow's class, whatever it is he's teaching that's not quite Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Well, I'll be certain to take decent notes for you."

"Just in Herbology, remember I'm not in all your classes anymore, smarty-pants" Tracey managed a smile for her friend, who had advanced to the N.E.W.T. level in just about all of her classes, whereas Tracey had a more moderate schedule.

"Right, well I'm off to aforementioned Herbology class, I'll see you at lunch."

Daphne did not, in fact see Tracey at lunch.

Instead, she was found by her sister, who looked incredibly troubled.

Astoria Greengrass was a gentle, sheltered girl. Artistic and free-spirited, she'd embarrassed a thirteen year old Daphne rather a lot by being sorted into Hufflepuff upon her arrival at Hogwarts. These days, Daphne had (mostly) gotten over the embarrassment and no longer ignored her sister in the hallways. Still, she felt a certain degree of unease when Astoria found her at the Slytherin table and sat down beside her. She might have hissed for her to get away, had it not been for the troubled look on Astoria's usually happy face.

"What's wrong?"

Astoria drew a shaky breath, her face was ashen. Daphne could see her hands trembling beneath the table.

"In class today…your friend Tracey was there…she was in detention I guess." She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes darting around, as if worried someone might over hear her. Daphne noticed Pansy eavesdropping and scowled, leaning in closer to Astoria so she could whisper.

"Carrow wanted to punish her."

Daphne had assumed as much, although she had been avoiding thinking about such things. She placed a comforting hand on Astoria's shoulder.

"I know, I know. They shouldn't punish students by hexing them, but they do, and we can't stop them. That's why we need to be careful to follow the rules now." Astoria sniffled and Daphne gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, "You're not in any danger Astoria. You're a good girl, just stay that way and you won't get in any trouble."

"It wasn't just punishing her Daphne! They made…they made us…they made _me_ do it."

Daphne's stomach dropped.

"Do what?"

Astoria drew a long, shuddering breath, "The Cruciatus Curse."

Down the table, Daphne couldn't help but notice Pansy Parkinson smirking.

Tracey returned to the dormitory before the rest of them that evening, as she apparently had no appetite for dinner. She was already in bed when Daphne arrived with Millicent. The curtains were drawn about her, and Daphne chose not to disturb her. She wouldn't have known what to say or do anyway.

Besides, it was her evening to patrol the castle in search of rule-breakers.

"You really shouldn't go alone." Pansy warned from her seat by the fire in the common room, where she sat across from Draco Malfoy, a pristine chess set in between them, though Daphne doubt the were really paying much attention to the game, "I hear it's dangerous out there at night."

"I'll be fine." Daphne told her, though she wished Theodore would suddenly appear (as he sometimes had a habit of doing) and offer to accompany her.

"You should go with her if you're worried." Draco mused from where he lounged. He looked haggard these days—tired and uneasy, and as if he couldn't possibly sit up straight even if he wanted to. His eyes darted to the corners of the room, as if afraid of what might be lurking there. Daphne wondered what had transpired during his summer—she had never been a great fan of Malfoy's arrogance, but she would take it any day over the depression that had consumed him. Funny, before now she never would have considered him her friend, but since his life had taken such dark turns, she couldn't help but feel angry on his behalf and protective of his welfare.

Pansy looked taken aback.

"I didn't mean _me_."

"Actually, you know, that's a good idea. You're still a Prefect Pansy, and I could use some help. Let's go."

Pansy looked at Draco for help, but he only had a tired grin to give her. She tossed her hair over her shoulder indignantly and stood, " _Fine._ " Daphne gave her a winning smile.

"Wand out Parkinson, I heard it's dangerous out there."

As they began their meandering path through the castle, they remained mostly silent, looking in dungeon classrooms and checking the locks on the store rooms. After half an hour of sparse conversation, Pansy decided to speak.

"Astoria seemed upset at lunch."

"She was," Daphne said, the bitter taste of disgust rising in the back of her throat, "Apparently Carrow thinks it's appropriate to teach fifth years Defense Against the Dark Arts by having them _hex_ other students." She couldn't keep the contempt from her voice.

"Careful," Pansy cautioned, "You never know who's listening."

"What, are _you_ going to tell on me?"

"Of course not," Pansy said, "I know it's better for me to have some sort of loyalty to you, as annoying as that is. But by the same token, _you_ ought to consider carefully who your friends are."

"Oh, should I?" Daphne said haughtily with a dry laugh, "I don't need to _connive_ my way through life, Parkinson. I don't need to make connections, I'm just fine as I am."

"Who you associate with can knock you down just as much as it can build you up. The world is changing, Greengrass, your little fraternizations and friendships with…undesirables…isn't cute anymore."

"I don't know what you mean by that and, frankly, I don't want to know."

"If you say so, but think about it. Davis has already singled herself out. You don't want to be associated with her."

"I think I'll be just fine associating with whoever I please." Daphne said, lifting her chin in the air.

"Just something to keep in mind. I don't know that your family can insist upon neutrality this time around."

The way she said it gave Daphne the uneasy feeling that this was something that had already been discussed at length.

Their conversation was cut short, however, as they rounded the corner into the Entrance Hall and were confronted with emerald letters, emblazoned upon the walls, ten feet tall.

LONG LIVE HARRY POTTER.

Pansy protested being left alone in the Entrance Hall as Daphne went to roust the Headmaster ("What if they come back!") but Daphne left her anyway, wearily contemplating the fact that her night had just become difficult. Snape answered his door bleary-eyed and in a black dressing gown (something Daphne found rather funny—did the man deliberately own only black clothing, down to his pajamas?) but as she explained what she'd found, he became alert and a deep scowl set itself upon his face. She was sent away with instructions to awaken Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall appeared not to have slept at all yet, and bustled past Daphne before she'd even finished explaining what had happened. They both arrived back in the Entrance Hall as the Carrows were arriving (apparently having been sent by Snape). Amycus had his wand trained on Neville Longbottom.

"Caught this one sneaking back up the west stairwell on my way down, thought he might know something about all this." Carrow sneered, pushing Neville ahead of him. Daphne noticed surprise registering on Neville's face as he saw the graffiti, and in that moment decided that he must not have done it.

No one gawks at their own artwork.

But Snape was already glaring at Neville down his long nose, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw. The look wasn't unfamiliar—he'd looked at Neville like that whenever he'd melted his cauldron, or otherwise botched his pitiful attempts at making potions. Daphne had always done well in potions, but had often wondered if that would still be the case had she had the Professor glaring down at her whenever she attempted to brew.

"This is vandalism, Longbottom, and not particularly creative or impressive vandalism either." Snape sneered, "Your efforts are, as you of course realize, entirely in vain, but punishable nonetheless. Detention is, I think, appropriate."

Neville didn't say anything to defend himself, didn't claim that he didn't do it. Daphne watched him curiously, wondering what he had actually been doing out of bed.

"Professor Carrow will escort you back to your dormitory now, report to his classroom at 8 am tomorrow morning." Then, dramatic as always, Snape turned on his heel, clothing billowing out behind him. Carrow pushed Neville back in the direction of the stairwell. Pansy watched with her arms crossed, huffing indignantly under her breath.

"Blood traitor." She muttered.

"I believe I will escort him back to his dormitory," Professor spoke suddenly—Daphne had nearly forgotten she was there. She had been inspecting the wall, touching the bright letters with her fingertips, as if she could feel some secret about them. She turned now to train her gaze on Snape, who glared back sullenly, as if reduced to the days when he was a teenager in her classroom.

"Mr. Longbottom is, after all, my charge, as I am his head of house. That's quite enough, Professor Carrow." Carrow had given Neville another shove, "I also think you'll find that detention is not, in fact, appropriate. I see no evidence that Mr. Longbottom has vandalized the school."

Snape's upper lip curled nastily, "I believe his association with the vandalism is evidenced by the fact that he is out of bed after hours, which is _itself_ an offense adequately punished by detention. So, Minerva, you'll find detention _rather_ appropriate."

McGonagall exhaled sharply through her nose, "Then it shall be conducted by me, after hours tomorrow."

"Professor Carrow carries out detentions." Snape stated as a matter of fact, "Now please escort your student back to bed."

McGonagall ushered Neville away. Pansy sighed heavily, which seemed to remind Snape that she and Daphne were still standing there.

"Miss Parkinson, if you would please help Miss Greengrass clean this mess off the wall." And with that he turned and stalked away. Carrow followed, but not before giving them a smile that Daphne found anything but comforting or friendly. Neither girl was polite enough to hide their irritation.

"Aren't there house elves for this kind of thing?" Pansy asked indignantly, echoing the exact thought floating through Daphne's head.

"I suppose it's magical, can't be cleaned by normal means." Daphne mused, touching the letters as McGonagall had before sighing, and rolling up her sleeves.

Together, they spent the next few hours attempting any magic they could remember to remove the letters, but to no avail. Pansy attempted to be helpful at first, but Daphne sent her back to the dormitory once she sank to the floor dramatically and began sighing so loudly it echoed throughout the hall.

Daphne didn't try much longer before following suit.

The message was still there the next morning, green and glittering in the daylight. Daphne walked past it with a yawn.

"I wish you'd woken me." Theodore said irritably, and not for the first time, as she joined him at breakfast.

"So you could have done what, precisely?" She asked, buttering a piece of toast.

"I don't know, but I like to be involved." Theodore responded indignantly. Daphne gave him a look.

"I really think this Head Boy deal has gone to your head and festered. I prefer you when you were aloof and kept your distance."

Theodore pretended not to hear her, "Where's Davis?"

Tracey had still been in bed when Daphne had left the dorm.

"She doesn't have class until after the morning session, so I'll go back down in between and make sure she's up and ready." Daphne responded curtly. Tracey probably didn't particularly want to attend class, but Daphne was very dedicated to making sure her friend didn't suddenly begin accruing detentions for truancy.

Daphne would have quite liked to skip out on her morning class though.

As she'd expected, Neville Longbottom was already in the room when the class got there. He looked tired and a little pale, but there was something defiant about him. Daphne tried to avoid catching his eye.

"Today, class, we are joined by Longbottom here." Carrow clapped Neville on the shoulder as if they were old friends, smiling in a way that was neither kind nor comforting, "Mr. Longbottom is a rather disturbed young man. He's responsible for the vandalism I'm sure you all noticed on your way to breakfast this morning.

"The vandalism itself is quite nasty, of course, but what's worse is what it says."

"What's so bad about what it says, eh?" Seamus Finnigan had seen fit to speak up, voice loud in the quiet room. Carrow's smile widened.

"The Ministry has designate Harry Potter as an undesireable, Mr. Finnigan. Undesireable Number One, in fact. Anyone who supports such a criminal, is likely to be considered a criminal themselves."

"Horse shite." Seamus said, a bit louder.

"Silencio!" Carrow had drawn his wand and silenced Seamus. A different voice rose, others followed. Almost all Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws joining in. Daphne felt conspicuous for her silence, but eyed Carrow's wand carefully.

"Long live Harry Potter!"

"Yeah!"

"Bullshit!"

"Long live Harry Potter!"

"CRUCIO!"

The shouting died down as Neville Longbottom's cries of pain filled the room. He stood for only a moment before collapsing to the floor, writhing as Carrow stood over him, wand aloft.

"Harry Potter is wanted by the Ministry of Magic, and support for him is criminal. Criminals are subject to punishment, and as citizens of the magical world," He allowed his wand arm to drop to the sigh, and Neville's screams stopped, but he stayed on the floor, sweating heavily, "As citizens of the magical community we have a duty to punish such criminals. Mr. Finnigan, if you would." Seamus didn't move.

"Refusal is, itself, practically criminal." Carrow explained, as if he were really trying to do Seamus a favor, "Very well. Miss Parkinson, please."

Pansy stood and flounced to the front of the room, smirking.

"The trick to a successful Cruciatus Curse is a strong wrist. Now focus."

Pansy wasn't successful her first attempt, which flustered her, and made her next several even more pathetic. Daphne sat stock still, her mouth dry, hoping that they'd waste away the entirety of the class in this manner—with Pansy Parkinson unsuccessfully attempting an Unforgiveable Curse.

Of course she wouldn't be so lucky. Pansy eventually succeeded, and Daphne was unsurprised to glance at her classmates and see a sea of white faces. Even Draco Malfoy appeared unsettled, but when Pansy was sent to her seat and he was called up, he went without hesitation. It only took him three tries to get it right.

And all the while, Neville screamed.

More than anything, Daphne wished to disappear. Almost as much, she wished to not be next.

 _Not me. Not me next_. She thought to herself, over and over, wishing she could plug her ears or run away or anything to leave the classroom behind.

Ernie Macmillan was next. He stood, but refused to raise his wand. Carrow berated him, called him week. Ernie puffed his chest and stood resolute, defiant. Until, that is, Carrow turned his wand onto him, and Ernie Macmillan crumbled to the floor.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Mr. Finnigan, the next time you think to refuse an order."

When Ernie was allowed to return to his seat, shaking and sweaty, Carrows dark eyes swept the room.

"Ah, of course, Miss Greengrass, if you would be so kind."

Daphne stood, hoping she didn't fall over, as she'd suddenly lost all feeling in her legs.

"Miss Greengrass had the misfortune of stumbling upon your vandalism, Longbottom." By now Neville was kneeling, bracing himself against his knees, breathing heavily, "I believe she was even tasked with cleaning up after you, it seems only right she be allowed to partake in your punishment."

Neville glanced up, and they locked eyes for a moment. Daphne stared back, trying to say something, pleading with him silently, praying for him to understand her intent. She raised her wand, hand trembling.

"Crucio!" She said, voice stronger than she felt. Nothing happened. She stared at him and he stared back. She repeated herself, trying to put meaning into the word, pleading with him to understand. Still, nothing happen.

On her third attempt, she saw something spark in his eyes—something that looked a lot like realization. Daphne spoke the incantation, and Neville Longbottom began to scream.

Amycus Carrow didn't know enough to realize that this time, his screams were fake.


End file.
